


Boot Camp

by divisio



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humanstuck, M/M, One Shot, Sadstuck, davekat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisio/pseuds/divisio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave winds up at boot camp, where a loud officer won't keep his mouth shut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boot Camp

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 4am and I don't think I'll ever touch it again. Sorry in advance.

 

          “Get your ass moving, Kid.  It’s just a scratch.”

           _Kid_.  God, you have never wanted to punch someone in the face so much in your life.  You’re not even sure if this guy’s as old as you, let alone older by a large enough margin to be calling you a fucking kid.  He doesn’t even run the place; he’s just some officer or something whose dad lets him play boss sometimes.  Still, you don’t have any other choice but to keep crawling through moist dirt while sharp bits of metal hang menacingly above you and your freshly sliced shoulder bleeds out, so that’s what you do.            This obstacle course is probably the toughest one, but it’s nothing compared to the nightmare you’ve been living in since the beginning of the summer.  You keep hoping you’ll wake up and have to go to school in the morning, and that everything will be the way it was before.  No such luck, you suppose.

          You crawl out from underneath the barbed wire and move on, all the while getting hassled by the small angry man with the whistle.  “Come on, Strider!  Even the fucking blind girl is moving faster than you, and she keeps stopping to sniff things.”  A young woman ahead of you aims a middle finger in his direction, prompting a snarl.  You smirk, picking up your pace.

          You finally reach the end of the course, almost certain that you’re the last one to finish again.  Your unwanted "coach" approaches you, wearing a disappointed look.  He nods at your wound.  “Let me take a look at that.”

          “Fuck off, Vantas.”  You shove past him.  His footsteps are behind you, but you don’t turn to look.

          “You’re going to get an infection, shit-for-brains.  Just let me see how bad the damage is.”

He'll probably be more gentle than the actual nurse, but it’s just one cut, and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.  You start walking faster until you reach the nurse’s station, where he observes from the doorway as she cleans you up.

          “Can I get some Tylenol or some shit?  It stings.”

          The nurse glares.  “I can’t give you painkillers.  You’re here for rehab.”

          “It’s fucking Tylenol.  What am I gonna do, snort it?”  She raises an eyebrow.  “I’m not gonna snort Tylenol!”

 

          You skip dinner again in favor of staying in your bunk-bed and looking at an old picture.  It’s one of the few things of your own that you’ve managed to get into this fucking place.  It’s of your best friend on prom night.  You forgot how gorgeous she looked in that dress, with her dorky glasses and buck-toothed smile.  You swallow hard.  Shit, why do you do this to yourself?

          “What’s that?”  You jump.  You didn’t even hear Vantas come in.

          You shove it under your pillow.  “None of your damn business.”  He grabs it without a word and takes a look at it.  You’re already on your feet.

          “Hey, asshole!  Personal items belong at home.  Does this place look like home to you?”  He takes it between his fingers, and--

          Oh, HELL no.

          Before the two pieces of the photo can even hit the ground, there’s a sickening crack as your fist collides with his face.  You’re pretty sure two of your knuckles are broken, but it was worth it.  Or at least, you thought it would be worth it, until he pounced on you.  Word to the wise, kids: don’t attack someone who’s professionally trained in hand-to-hand combat, because chances are, he’ll beat the shit out of you.

          The two of you are brawling on the ground (and you’re pretty sure he’s winning) until Spades Slick comes in and breaks you up.

          “Listen here, you little shits.”  He’s got a cigarette in his mouth and both of your collars in separate fists.  This is the guy who runs the place.  This is the guy you’re afraid of.  And you’re right to be.  He’s menacing as hell, with his prosthetic arm and patched up eye.  “This has been going on long enough.  There is obviously some unsettled tension between the two of you.”  He starts leading you out of the quarters and toward a building about the size of a walk-in closet.  You recognize it from being thrown in there dozens of time for misbehaving.  “I don’t know what it is, but I ain’t gonna deal with it in my camp.”  Slick opens the door and throws both of you inside.  “So fuckin’ settle it.”  To your horror, the door locks behind him.  “I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours.  For your own sakes you best be either dead or the bestest of friends by the time I get back.”

          You wipe your bleeding nose on the sleeve of your shirt and inspect your right hand.  You touch your now throbbing fingers with your other hand and groan.  Not a word out of Vantas, though.  You glance his way and are convinced that he’s attempting to light the wall on fire with his gaze.  His fury is almost laughable, actually.  He tries so hard to be a badass, but really he just comes off as a teenager with a bad temper.

          It’s awkwardly silent, but you’re not going to be the one who breaks it, so he does.  “So what was that, a picture of your girlfriend or something?”

          You grit your teeth.  “I already told you it was none of your fucking business, so you can fuck right the fuck off.”

          “Look, you’ve been here for two whole months and the entire time, you’ve shown nothing but apathy toward everything and everyone around you.  But today, you showed an emotion.  What the fuck was that?”

          “That was me being fed up with your shit.  You think you’re so fucking tough with your little whistle, but if your _daddy_ wasn’t in charge, you’d be nobody, and no one here would give a shit what you had to say.”

          “Slick isn’t my dad.  My parents are dead, you insensitive shitsponge.”  Oh, and there’s that awkward silence again.

          After a minute, you sigh and your tone softens.  “Sorry.  My parents… aren’t around either, so I feel you there.”

          “It happened years ago.  Whatever.  Back to the picture.  Was that your girlfriend?”

          You frown.  The look on his face showed whatever the opposite of “whatever” is towards his parents’ death. “No.  Well, kinda.  We dated for a little while, but shit happened and we decided to stay friends.  Best friends, actually, against all odds.  She’s gone now.”  Your head thumps back against the wall.  Why the hell are you telling him this?

          “Christ, I had no idea.  I’m so sorry, man.”  You have no response for him, not even an “it’s okay”, because it’s really not okay.  You can’t remember the last time it was okay.  “What happened?”

          “Car accident.”  You really don’t want to be talking about this.  “It was my fault.”  Why are you still talking about this?  “I was driving and I looked away at the wrong moment.”  You hate yourself a lot right now.

          “The nurse said you were here for rehab.  What the hell is that all about?”

          You rub the bridge of your nose.  “Alcohol, dude.  I got drunk quite a few times after the fact, did some stupid shit in public, and got arrested.  They wanted to send me to an actual rehab facility, but my bro had a different idea.”  You bang the back of your head against the wall a few times.  “Fuck him and fuck the system for listening to him and fuck sobriety.”  Vantas moves closer to you.  “I will hit you again if you don’t back the fuck up, I swear to god.”

          He rolls his eyes.  “I’ll just kick your ass again, douchebag.  How’s your shoulder?”

          “My shoulder?  It’s fine.  I’m sorry I punched you in the face, though.  I broke my fingers.”

          “Show me.”  You are too tired and achy to argue.  He takes your hand and you swear as he pops the knuckles back into place.  “They weren’t broken; just dislocated.  They’ll be fine.  You could probably use a brace, though.”  He sets your hand back in your lap.  “You should  learn how to punch somebody so that you don’t fuck up your own hand next time.”

          You chuckle.  “Yeah, maybe.”

          “I’ll teach you.”

          You find that you aren’t entirely opposed to that idea.  Maybe it would be good to have an actual friend here.  “Yeah, okay, Vantas.”

          "It's Karkat."


End file.
